Tell Me What Am I To Do
by BeLikeWater
Summary: My take on post-S8 Jackson/April.
1. Chapter 1

_******Author's Note: The backstory here is canon through S8, picking up right where we left off at the end-of-residency celebration dinner.**_

_**I'll be honest, I initially hated, HATED, and still really completely resent, the sudden OMG-I-love-Jesus thing. It just didn't, and still doesn't, feel in character for April to me, especially since they seem to be playing it straight. The writers had plenty of time to hint that she felt that way and they didn't, instead they just dropped this on the fans like they just dropped an entire airplane on Lexie, and now we're apparently supposed to forget that April already had her reasons ("I wanted it to be special", "I waited too long", "guys find me annoying") and was awkwardly trying to move past them anyway (flirting with the guys at the bar after Momma Avery told her to loosen up, and nearly sleeping with Alex). So at first, I wanted to write an April/Jackson fanfic that rewrote their recent history with none of that nonsense in it. I may still do that, I don't know. It hasn't all coalesced yet, but meanwhile this one won't leave my head until I get it down on paper (so to speak).******_

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Everyone waited, just as Chief Webber requested, sipping only water as the carbonation in their glasses slowly evaporated until the liquid in their flutes was motionless, no longer fit for toasting.

After almost an hour, Richard let them start eating.

When the last of the food was gone and efforts to make conversation had gone as flat as the champagne, and there was still no sign of Meredith and Cristina, Alex started drinking far less sparingly, as if he were hoping he could drown himself before the awkwardness suffocated them all. Jackson, on the other hand, seemed to be playing a one-sided tournament against the chief for Most Sober and Least Friendly. April didn't know what the hell was going on there, but decided trying to figure it out was less productive than attempting to keep up with Alex in the race for Highest BAC - something she might still have a chance at, one thing the boards couldn't take away from her.

Finally, Richard let them leave, sparing them the speech about their futures in medicine, for which April could only be grateful, given that she wasn't sure she had one.

Jackson drove them home in stony silence, while April looked out the window and tried to balance her efforts between hiding her hiccups and suppressing her nausea.

As he shut the door of Meredith's house, Jackson turned to her with a look of regret that was all too familiar lately, and let out a sigh at whatever he saw in her face. His eyes, normally a wide, light blue, turned much narrower and darker, nearly a stormy grey, when he was serious. Normally, April loved seeing the change - a subtle broadcast of his feelings for anyone lucky enough to know him well, as she did - but right now it just irritated her.

If he said he was sorry again, she was going to hit a guy in the face for the second time this week.

But, "Let's get you some water," was all he said. He disappeared into the kitchen before she could sneer at him like the last time he'd said that, and April, uninterested in his pity and reeling from mixing champagne and red wine, stumbled upstairs to sprawl face-up on her bed, staring upwards.

_How had things spiraled out of control so quickly? _she wondered, blinking as the light on the ceiling swam in and out of focus. Her life was in pieces around her, and she wasn't sure which ones to try to pick up first, or if she should even bother. She let herself drift into numbness, trying not to think about anything but the curve and shadow where the glass bulb met the bronze fixture.

An eternity later, but still much too soon, she was knocked out of her reverie when Jackson knocked the door open wide with one elbow. She rolled her head to the side and struggled to focus on him.

"I found some V8, too," he said. April didn't answer, just rolled her head back so that she was looking up at the ceiling again.

Jackson sighed. That was becoming too familiar too, April reflected listlessly. She felt the mattress underneath her rock once and tilt as he sat down next to her, and then he was sliding an arm underneath her shoulder blades to pressure and guide her, the firmness of his touch threatening to physically pull and prop her up if she didn't cooperate.

April sat up under her own power and direction - mostly - and accepted the glass that Jackson pressed into her hands. "Thanks," she mumbled, not meeting his eyes.

He waited until she'd taken a few drinks and appeared to have run out of energy, then he took the glass back and set it on her bedside table. April waited for him to leave, but he didn't, and exhausted, she slumped down and away from him to curl up in the fetal position on the edge of the bed. To her faint surprise, he rolled to lay down behind her in the slim space left over on her double bed, tucking an arm behind his head so as not to crowd her on the pillow.

They were still and silent for several minutes, and April was feeling almost ready for another sip or two of juice, or maybe water this time, when Jackson said calmly, "So. Tell me about Jesus."

April blinked, the alcohol providing a convenient buffer for the shock of such a question. "What?" she finally managed.

"Jesus," Jackson said with deliberate patience. "Tell me about Jesus. You keep saying I'm your best friend, but if Jesus means so much to you, why is this the first I'm hearing about him?"

It was a reasonable question. Even a brain soaked in ethanol could see that. That didn't mean that April wanted to answer it, but Jackson was right, he deserved to know why it hadn't come up before, and maybe it would be easier to just get it over with now, while she was drunk, and could hopefully forget most of the embarrassment she would feel while explaining.

"Jesus," she repeated. The word felt false, fake, on her lips, and her tongue felt a little too big for her mouth, and she closed her eyes against the confusion and pain.

Jackson didn't press her further, but after a minute or two she started talking anyway, keeping her back to him and gazing steadfastly across the room at her closet.

"I don't know," she said, slurring a little. "I... I didn't think it was a big deal, before. I mean, everyone did it." She stopped, thinking about that.

"Everyone did what?" Jackson asked, with the same deliberate patience as before.

"Promised," April said, sighing. "At 14, everyone in my church, almost everyone in my school, really, promised that I - I mean, that we - would save ourselves for marriage, that until we were committed under God, we would only be intimate with Jesus." She winced, realizing that it sounded a little weird. "I mean, it wasn't - that makes it sound like Jesus Camp or something awful, it wasn't like that. I don't..." she trailed off, not finding the words.

"I know," Jackson said after an awkward pause. "I get it. Everyone did it."

"Yeah," April said softly. "And then I got really interested in science all through high school, and I was too skinny, with stringy hair and braces, so there was never any danger me of breaking that promise. Other kids did, and most regretted it, and I..." she swallowed. "I was just a nerd, and it was nice to have something to feel..." she clumsily waved a hand through the air "...something...about. I might not have had the most friends or the coolest clothes, but at least I hadn't slept with a member of the football team in the back of, of, a pickup truck or something."

Jackson was silent, and April waited for him to tell her that high school April sounded like an annoying prude, but when he didn't, she continued.

"Then I went to college, and... I went to church less." She'd scaled back slowly, without consciously thinking about it much, she remembered. It didn't start until late in her freshman year, skipping one Sunday here, another Sunday there, until eventually, as a senior, she'd gone several weeks at a time without dropping in for a service. "I never really told my parents. I still go with them, when I'm home for Christmas. And I guess I still let them assume... it would just upset them, and it's not like I was doing anything un-Christian, and I still felt like a good person, because I was studying, and I hadn't broken any promises to them or anyone, like don't go to parties with underage drinking, and don't do drugs, and don't have sex before marriage."

She felt Jackson shift a bit, but he still didn't say anything. She wished she could tell if he was smirking at her, like he often did when she got wound up over silly things, but it was a relief to finally confide in someone, and somehow it was easier not being able to see him, easier not having to look him the eye, so she didn't turn around to see if he was finding her as ridiculous as she was feeling.

"And then I started med school," she continued, "and I stopped going completely." Her voice stopped completely there too, her throat constricting as she remembered her sudden crisis of faith, how she had looked up and found that the easy, sometimes vague belief of her childhood seemed to have just slipped away from her when she wasn't looking.

Jackson must have been able to hear it, because he rested a gentle hand on her shoulder and back, and asked only, "Why?"

"It just - it didn't make sense anymore," April felt guilty of betrayal as soon as the words tumbled out of her lips, but she couldn't keep them in anymore. "I wanted to believe, I did, I do, but...I majored in science, and I'd read all about the lack of concrete evidence for anything that happened in the Bible and some things that we even have evidence against, like the exodus, and," she swallowed thickly, "the more we learned about disease, and practiced opening cadavers, the less I could feel God working in the world the way that I could when I was a kid."

Jackson's thumb moved upward on her shoulder blade just a fraction of an inch, a small, reassuring stroke.

"I mean, I still thought something was...that God had to be out there, He just wasn't very...accessible," she said, sighing. It had felt like seeking approval from a parent who suddenly never came home, never saw you, didn't care how clean you kept your room or how high you kept your grades. "But I kept my promise," April said again.

"Because you felt like it made you a good person," Jackson said, neutral.

"Yeah, and because," she sighed in defeat, "it's not like there was some great opportunity to break it anyway, and because I wasn't the prettiest, or the smartest, or the funniest girl, but by then I was the only virgin I knew, so it was the only thing I had that other girls couldn't offer." She winced, hearing how petty that sounded, then sighed in defeat. "And because I really did think it would be fairy-tale romantic to be a virgin on my wedding night. And because I was scared. And because... just because."

She fell silent for a moment, remembering how grateful she'd felt for having all of those reasons when she started as an intern at Mercy West, then at Seattle Grace after the merger. The other residents suddenly had to worry about their careers in addition to their love lives, and worse, about their love lives screwing up their careers, but she'd only had to worry about her career.

Well, now she didn't even have to worry about that. She laughed humorlessly, realizing that, by elimination, she had nothing to worry about anymore. Rock bottom, nowhere lower to sink, nothing else to lose.

"And now Jesus hates me, and that's why I failed my boards and lost all my job offers and have no future."

"April," Jackson said, some other emotion laced in with the patience still in his voice, though her still hazy and boozy mind couldn't put a name to which one. "Jesus doesn't hate you."

"Yes," April said morosely, "he does. I know I just said I've had doubts, but I can feel this, it's like a crushing, horrible weight that I've never felt before, like my soul got a freaking text message from God."

Jackson snorted with a suppressed laugh, unable to help himself, and rolled up onto his side, his hand pushing down on her shoulder so that she had to roll onto her back underneath him. His slight grin faded as she managed to look him blearily in the eye, and suddenly he looked nothing but serious and sincere.

"Your soul did not get a text message from God," he said gravely. "Jesus does not hate you."

She flushed, feeling patronized, and raised her voice a little in self-defense. "Look, I know it sounds crazy, but my parents' whole church was praying for me! I was chief resident! I had studied!" She caught her breath and added savagely, "And I am _fantastic_ at studying!" She glared at him, as if daring him to question that last point. He didn't.

"All I had to do was show up, and do my best, and instead I get in a bar fight and have a one-night stand," she continued, frustration seeping through her voice. "And I fail my boards, because Jesus hates me, because that's the only way that it makes sense to feel that horrible after feeling that great." She drew a breath, and saw the careful concern on Jackson's face, like he was trying to figure out the best way to tell her how she was completely wrong, that she was deluding herself, that she wasn't really good enough to pass the boards and everyone knew it, because she hadn't, and they did. "It's _not_ that I didn't know the answers," she insisted. "I should have passed that test."

But Jackson surprised her by nodding, agreeing. "Yeah," he said. He paused and his eyebrows drew inward they way they always did when he wasn't happy about something. "You should have." He paused. "But April, you didn't fail because Jesus hates you."

April sighed, closing her eyes, not wanting to hear about how ridiculous she was acting right now. This is why she didn't talk about her religious background in front of doctors.

But instead of deriding her, he said seriously, "Because if God is against you having premarital sex, he wouldn't punish you by making you fail a test that you were qualified for, he-"

"Jackson, he's _God_, he can do anything," April interrupted tiredly, watching the darkness inside her eyelids spin lazily.

"Yeah," Jackson said, "he _can_, but he _wouldn't_. How many lives have you saved or help saved in the past few years as a resident?"

"I... I don't know," April said, disoriented at the sudden change of subject. She opened her eyes. "I didn't count."

"Well, rough estimate then," Jackson said, tucking his chin to his chest and looking at her squarely. "Maybe 25 a week."

"25," April said in disbelief. "No way. I'm not some rockstar like Cristina."

"10, then," Jackson said, shaking his head at her with narrowed eyes. "To be on the conservative side." He gazed sternly at her, now daring her to disagree. When she didn't, he continued.

"So assuming you take four weeks of vacation - and you never do - and work 48 weeks of the year, you save around 480 lives a year. How many will you save next year if you can't find a surgery position because you failed your boards?"

"None," April said, depressed. None. That was also how many options she had right now, she thought, wondering how this was supposed to be making her feel better. All she felt like right now was crying.

"Right," Jackson said. "You won't save any. That's 480 people whose lives won't be saved because you failed your boards. God's an asshole if he would let 480 people die, if he would let just one person die, just because you had a one night stand, and God's not an asshole, right?"

April forgot to feel miserable for a minute, caught by the logic. "Well...wait, it doesn't - it doesn't just work like that."

"Yes it does," Jackson said, clearly sure of it. "And even if it didn't, Jesus wouldn't hate you because that's not what Jesus does. He forgives people. Like, everyone. Anyone who wants forgiveness. So he doesn't hate you, and if you don't feel forgiven and loved, it's because you haven't forgiven yourself."

April stared at him, stunned at his sudden theological confidence. He must have seen the disbelief in her face, because his eyes got that forced twinkle, like when he was trying to hide that he was about to be defensive, and he said, "I went to church as a kid, too. Uhh, I think Episcopalian."

April couldn't help but guffaw at that. "You're not sure?"

"It could have been Catholic," he admitted sheepishly. "Or both. I get them mixed up. I think my mom went mainly for networking." He grinned down at her, and her mouth twitched in response, a little amused despite herself. His grin melted into a smile, and he continued, "But I remember enough. Enough to know that you're just using Jesus as a convenient excuse for beating yourself up," he finished pointedly.

The smile slid off her face at that, and tears pricked at the back of her eyes. "It really does feel like I'm surrounded in someone's anger and disappointment," she whispered. She hated being this vulnerable in front of him, but she was too inebriated and too tired to fake toughness anymore.

"I know," he murmured softly, lifting a hand to stroke her hair. She felt comforted by the gesture despite herself. "But the only person angry and disappointed in you is you. I wish you weren't, I wish I could make you see you have no reason to be -" he paused, searching her eyes, and they filled up with even more water under his scrutiny. "I wish that you could understand that any guy good enough for you - Jesus included - will see everything else you have to offer, and not give a damn that you're not a virgin."

"But why else," she reiterated with a shaky voice, weaker in her conviction now, "would I feel so bad after doing something that feels so good?"

"April," he said, sliding down and laying on his arm so that he was facing her at her level, almost nose to nose. "Because everyone feels like shit after their first time."

April shook her head. "No, that's not -"

"It is," Jackson said softly, firmly. "It's true. Even if sex is the best thing to have happened to you yet, even if there's no real reason it wasn't good for you, there's always some time afterward where you freak out a little bit that you actually did it and you can't go back. Everyone does. I did."

"You did," April said flatly.

"Yeah, I did," Jackson said, "I wasn't always the unrepentant man-whore you know me as today." His voice was light, trying to keep her at ease, but she could see something unsaid flicker in his eyes. "Your first time didn't live up to the ideas you'd had about it. Hardly anyone's first time does."

Her eyes filled up again. Was it possible that he was right? Other people slept around, and she'd never thought that was a huge deal or that Jesus was judging them. God, if He did exist, probably wasn't micromanaging at such a frivolous level for them. So why would he do that for her? Just the idea of the way she was feeling being a temporary, normal response that would fade with time made April's tired, crampy heart untwist a little from its knot of dread and pain.

"And you're right, you should have passed the boards," - her chest tightened again briefly at that - "because you are an amazing doctor and a great surgeon, and the only reason you didn't," Jackson said, determination now showing in the glint of his eye and tight corners of his mouth, "is because I was dumb enough to take your virginity while you were drunk and then leave you alone the night before you took a life-changing test you were already nervous about."

"Jackson," she said, exasperated, her sore heart forgotten for the moment, "you have nothing to feel guilty about, I told you, I was the one who -"

"No, I don't want to hear it again," he interrupted, his voice hard. "You don't have anything to feel guilty about either," he said, staring at her stubbornly. "And I'm not forgiving me until you forgive you."

April took in the set of his chin, and closed her eyes tiredly, shaking her head. "Fine," Jackson said, irritated, "let me know if you change your mind." She felt him roll away from her, the bed shaking once more as he stood up. They hadn't really been touching, but suddenly the bed felt colder. She wished he would stay, but she couldn't say that out loud, didn't yet believe she deserved either forgiveness or to ask for what she wanted. Instead, she just listened to the whoosh of air as the door swung, and the soft thud as he closed it behind him.

* * *

Jackson walked down the hallway to his room, mechanically taking off all but his boxers and falling into bed.

He hated seeing her so distraught, he thought as he stared up at the ceiling. Hated it. He had been so pissed at Karev for not treating her with the respect she deserved, and now he felt obligated to be just as pissed at himself. Even though his mind kept repeating in desperation, _no, I'm not like him, I'm not like that._

He'd thought she was sure. He'd tried, he thought, tried to make sure that she was sure. Well, he'd at least tried a little. He tried to recall every detail about those thirty seconds. He'd asked her, hadn't he, if she was sure? Well, no. But she'd said she was, she'd said it was okay. And she'd kissed him, like - fumbling kisses, enthusiastic amateur kisses, nothing like the practiced way most girls kissed, as if they were reciting Cosmo instructions in their heads the whole time - and the charm of it, the unexpectedness of it, her sweet excitement...his brain had sort of shut off as his body responded, but he'd tried to remember all of the reasons that this was a bad idea, she was stressed out, she wasn't acting like herself, she'd had a little to drink at dinner, she was a virgin, she was a virgin...

But then she'd said a bunch of words, a lot of words all strung together too fast, and he couldn't remember any of them now, barely heard them then. He could only focus on her eyes, bright and animated and hopeful, the eyes that even as her friend, he'd always struggled to say no to. And she'd said, "when something feels really, _really _good - it can't be bad, right?" And all he could do was breathe for a minute, wanting that to be true, and then she was kissing him again and he was backing her through the door, and then they were -

His skin grew hot as he thought about what had happened next. He couldn't help but to replay it, watching in his mind's eye as her clothes came off haphazardly. He had been so caught off guard, marveling at the incongruity of it all: April the good girl naked in his arms, picking him, the pretty boy screw-up. Then he'd been almost surprised to feel himself sliding inside her - he was chagrined to feel himself go hard again now, just remembering.

He had no trouble identifying the moment that followed as the essence of what she would never be able to give to anyone else. Even the very next day in the bathroom, thrusting into her again, she'd let out a staggered, surprised sigh, but it still wasn't like that first night... after a tiny wince of shock and discomfort, her mouth had dropped into a perfect oh, and her dark eyes filled with a wonder he'd never seen. Her lip had trembled, and Jackson had almost stopped breathing, captivated at the sight. She'd moaned then, moving against him slowly, awkwardly, and Jackson had gently pulled her down towards him, wrapping his arms around her, tilting his hips, showing her how much better it could be.

In the present, he was the one groaning quietly, finding it impossible to fully regret that moment even though he knew he should, remembering her breasts pressed against his chest and the soft sounds of pleasure she'd made in his ear, and he dropped a hand below his waist to finish the rest of the memory.

A mere half minute later, he shucked his spoiled boxers and tossed them on the floor. Spent, confused, and a little ashamed of himself, he rolled over onto his stomach. Realizing that this was the third night in a row that he'd ended the day this way, he wondered at how abruptly it had become a habit to guiltily jerk off to his best friend. Troubled, he tossed and turned until he finally fell asleep.

.

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_****** Please review. ******_


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, April was still sleeping off the night before when Jackson left for his shift at the hospital before the sun rose. At least in the daylight, he could keep lustful thoughts of her at bay. But pushing open the door to the locker room, he was greeted by the other kind of angst that he'd found himself plagued by in the last few days. He heard the echo of her voice, disgusted, snapping, "_go to Tulane already!_", and broken, near sobbing that she hated she wasn't a virgin for the man she would marry.

Sighing, he opened his locker slowly and changed, hating that his closest friend was pushing him away, turning away from him, more often than not lately. Hating that he was bothered so much that in her eyes, he apparently wasn't worthy of her. He wasn't, really, he knew it too, knew that he wasn't the kind of man she would want to marry. And she was right, Tulane would be great for him. He liked New Orleans, even if it wasn't filled with pretty green-covered hills and cool and refreshing salt air and the only person that understood him, the way that Seattle was.

Seattle. He really should tell a few people at Seattle Grace that he was leaving, before he called Tulane to accept their offer. Slamming his locker shut, he went to see Mark first.

Not finding him in his office, in the cafeteria, or at the nurses' station, and not wanting to start rounds until he'd gotten this conversation out of the way, he stuck his head into the open door of Owen's office. "Hey, Chief Hunt, have you seen Dr. Sloan?"

The red-headed man turned around from hastily gathering paperwork off his desk. His lab coat looked considerably more wrinkled than usual, and the lines in his face were exhausted, but he hesitated only briefly before saying firmly, "come in, close the door, sit down."

Jackson complied, shutting the door and dropping into a chair in front of the chief's desk, wondering what this was about. Hunt perched on the front of his desk, and spoke without preamble.

"The plane to Boise went down yesterday morning in a densely forested part of eastern Oregon. Rescue helicopters didn't find them for eleven hours. Dr. Sloan sustained significant internal injuries, and is being treated at St. Luke's in Boise right now. When they are sure he's stable, he and the others will be transferred here to Seattle."

Jackson sat back, stunned. "The others," he repeated, looking the older man in the eye.

Owen chose his words carefully. "Dr. Robbins is in critical care. She lost a lot of blood and was exposed to infection from a particularly bad compound fracture. She's being given transfusions, but they're not sure about her chances. Dr. Shepherd also has extensive injuries and is being treated for them, and then he will likely be flown to New York to see specialists. It's not clear when he is expected to recover, or if he will be able to return to surgery. Cristina and Meredith appear to have suffered only minor injuries, but are being held for 24 hour observation." He paused, looking grim. "The other Dr. Grey did not survive the crash."

Hunt's last sentence hit Jackson in the chest with the force of a large brick. "Lexie?" he said faintly, feeling sure he must have misunderstood. No, she was just here, he could almost see her in standing at the nurses station in her scrubs, in the dugout wearing that baseball uniform as she stared at Mark for too long. She couldn't be...

"Gone," Owen said, gently now. "I understand she was pinned underneath some large part of the plane that the trees had ripped apart in the crash, and either the injuries to her organs were too much, or she bled out. I'm sorry, I know you were...close."

"I - we - " Jackson started to tell him that no, actually, they weren't anymore, they'd been broken up for awhile, and it was okay, it was fine, he was over her, but then he realized it didn't make a difference. They were close once, and she was dead now. It was not fine, and nothing would make this okay, even if he was over her.

"I haven't told the rest of the staff yet," Owen continued, after a brief pause. Jackson nodded, still trying to wrap his head around all that the chief had said. "I need to make an announcement soon."

"Dr. Torres..." Jackson said suddenly, feeling more horrified by the minute. "Has she - does she -"

Hunt nodded stiffly, his face drawn and tired. "She knows. She's already flown over to Boise, to be there. She won't be coming in for...some time. Several days, at least, I'd imagine." His face was pained, commiserating with both the absent Callie and the young man in front of him. "Look, I know that this is a shock. But given the circumstances..." he lifted a shoulder, helpless, hating to ask. "We're short staffed. We could really use the help...though you're entitled to bereavement leave, if you need it."

It took Jackson a moment to parse Hunt's words, work out what he was asking, but then the answer was clear. "No. No, I'll stay. She would have - it's what - " he paused, feeling wrong to speak for her. He had no idea what she would have wanted. Not to die, most likely. Not to have spent her last conscious moments scared and in pain. "I'll help," he said instead.

"Thank you," Owen said, gruffly. He cleared his throat. "There is one other thing you could do for me, before you start on whatever needs to be done."

"Yes, sir," Jackson said, too dazed to wonder what could Hunt need.

"Can you get ahold of Dr. Kepner? I tried calling her, asking her to come in, but she's not picking up for me. I think she may be...well, she has every right to be angry, but I'd like to offer her her job back, if she'll have it." He looked uncomfortable. "I never wanted to let her go, and now that we have one less resident on salary, I don't have to."

Jackson just stared at him. April. April didn't know she'd just lost another friend. She and Lexie had been close, probably closer than he and Lexie had been. Closer than April was to any of the other residents, save him.

Hunt seemed to take Jackson's horrified silence as offense at his tactlessness, and shifted on the desk, dropping his head to his hands, massaging his forehead. "Sorry. Sorry. I don't know how to make that sound less awful, but we need Kepner here. Badly."

"Yeah," Jackson said, his voice hollow, agreeing with the sentiment more than Hunt could know. "We do. Yeah, I'll call her."

* * *

He'd left eleven messages, he thought as he stumbled up the steps to Meredith's house that evening in the dark, exhausted. Almost one for every hour, and he was worried by the third, pissed by the eighth, and desperate by the tenth. But she'd never returned his calls nor, to his knowledge, had she shown up at the hospital. He'd worked his shift and then some, helping patients and rearranging scheduled surgeries on autopilot, barely seeing the people around him.

He unlocked the front door, now stiff with tension, hoping she would be right where he left her. As he walked into the foyer, his senses were assaulted by moist warm air that carried the scent of chicken and herbs, of butter, fruit, and flour. Such comforting smells didn't seem to belong in a day like today, and it made him suddenly conscious of how dirty and sweaty he felt. He stopped for a minute to compose himself before walking into the kitchen.

April was just shutting the oven door, and as she turned around Jackson saw that she was wearing a simple dress, dark brown with a full skirt, and a deep red ruffled apron wrapped around it, bringing out the highlights in her curly hair and making her look like a warmer, solid incarnation of a perfect 50s housewife from the pages of a magazine.

"Hey," she said, looking hesitantly at him, her face more relaxed than he'd seen it in days, and his spine slowly decompressed in relief, despite knowing what lay ahead.

"Hey," he said. He knew he should say more, tell her everything, but suddenly his mind didn't have any words, and all he wanted was to stand there, and just look at her. Just for a few minutes.

But after an awkward pause of mere seconds, she turned away, lifting the lid of something on the stove, stirring briefly, then rinsing her hands in the sink. She turned back halfway towards him, but didn't meet his eyes, focusing on the drying towel that she worked up her forearms. "I thought about what you said."

"You did," Jackson said mechanically.

"Yeah. You were right." He didn't say anything, and she finally looked up to see his face a blank mask. She took a shaky breath. "Jesus doesn't hate me," she said, her voice low, and self-deprecating. "I was overreacting. I just - I got caught up with all the stress of taking the boards and went a little crazy, and then when I -" she winced "- failed them, I...got too carried away with punishing myself. And you - you were right about that, too," she added. "I need to forgive myself, for...for not living up to my own ideals." He didn't move, his expression didn't change, so she stepped closer, tentatively. "Jackson, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made you feel like - what we did, it wasn't wrong, it felt right, it just - I guess I'm just, freaking out, like you said, it's normal, I'm just getting used to the idea, that I'm not -" she stopped, taking a breath, her eyes suddenly watery in her resolute face. "That my life isn't going as perfectly as I'd planned it."

Her voice got stronger, with that careful, determined brightness she had. He sometimes laughed when the others made fun of her for it, but he admired it. She honestly believed she could make good things happen just by saying them with enough confidence and optimism, and a lot of the time, she was right. "I slept in this morning, took a really long hot shower, and I'm feeling a lot more well-adjusted." He still said nothing, his heart clenching. "I even..." she paused, looking down at her hands, then continued bravely, "I even spent part of the day searching online for jobs at hospitals and clinics, because you were right again, I'm still a doctor." She looked at him for a reaction, but getting none, she added tentatively, "and - and I made dinner, and - and pie, to apologize." She gave him a small, real smile, something he hadn't seen since San Francisco. "Strawberry rhubarb, I know it's your favorite."

"April," he finally said, tiredly. Yearning unexpectedly rolled over him, longing, not lust this time. He wanted to pull her to him, say thank you, bury his head in her hair, smile at her wholesome pluckiness, inhale and then praise her pie, and spend the rest of the night pretending that today hadn't happened, but he couldn't. She was finally sounding more like herself again, like his best friend, not like that bitter and angry person that kept jerking her arm away from him, and he hated what had to come next.

"Jackson, is something wrong?" she asked, her voice confused. "You're acting really strange. And hey, do you know where everyone else is?" Her tone lifted in annoyance. "I'm still pissed at Meredith and Cristina, making me pick up their dry-cleaning and then not even showing up last night."

Instead of answering directly, he said, "Why didn't you answer your phone?" in a voice that was suddenly much sharper than he'd meant it to be. He tempered it as much as he could. "I was worried."

Startled, she stammered, "I - I turned it off, I didn't want to - to have to see my parents calling to check up on me, I told them I failed the boards but..." she glanced down, "they still don't know...I didn't tell them that the hospital let me go, and..."

"The hospital wants you back," Jackson said abruptly, taking two short steps to sit down at the kitchen table. He had to tell her everything somehow, might as well start with the only good news. "I left you a bunch of messages, and I'm sure there's some on there from Hunt, too, he said - he said he never wanted to let you go, and that he hopes you'll consider accepting the offer he originally made you."

April stood rooted to the ground, unbelieving. "What?" she said numbly.

Jackson looked up at her. "There's more. April, sit down." She didn't move, frozen to the spot, so he reached out, grabbing her hand and tugging her into the chair next to him. She looked at him blankly, and he took a deep breath.

"There was an accident," he said, as evenly as he could, looking her squarely in the eyes. Confused, she nodded warily. "The plane to Boise." He stopped, trying to figure out which part to say next, and horror and worry dawned in her eyes.

"Did they - did everyone - are they okay?" she asked in a whisper. Her shoulders started trembling.

He took her hand again. He knew that she already knew that the answer was no, knew that they were both thinking about the same thing, knew that she was reliving the last horrible thing to have happened that had taken away people they'd both known for years, knew that Lexie was the closest thing to a best friend that either one of them had had - besides each other - since Charles and Reed died.

"No," he said, knowing he had to be straightforward about it, even though he wanted to protect her for a minute longer. He steeled himself to get it over with. "No, not everyone, no. Lex-" his voice caught, and April gasped in pain, but he ploughed forward, "Lexie died at the crash scene before the rescue teams found them."

"No," April whispered, staring at him, her eyes deep and lost. "No, that can't be true."

"I know," he said, his voice tight with shared misery. At least the rest was a little easier. "Robbins is critical." April shook her head, and he tightened his hand on hers. "Shepherd and Sloan are being treated for major injuries, but they're both expected to survive. Meredith and Cristina are fine, mostly uninjured."

"Oh my god," April whispered. He twisted his wrist to press his palm closer to hers, not knowing what else to do. "Oh my god." She stared at him for a few more long seconds, and then a horrible, twisted smile fought its way onto her face. "Oh my god," she said again, and let out a short, dreadful laugh. She lifted her free hand to cover her mouth, eyes wide with horror. Jackson opened his own mouth to comfort her somehow, but there was nothing to say, only - "Oh my _GOD_," she cried out again, and then she fell apart completely, convulsing with crazed giggles as she choked out a stream of words and tears welled in her eyes.

"I've been so - so upset - over God, and losing my virginity, and - and my career, and - and fucking dry cleaning!" Her voice started small and sad and afraid, but turned loud and angry at the end. "This whole time, I've thought - I've thought this was the worst -" she laughed even harder, their joined hands shaking so hard that he could feel it in his shoulder, "- the worst -" and he knew he should do something, but he felt paralyzed, "- the worst that could happen to me." Her words stopped abruptly, and so did the awful laughter. "I - I forgot -" she said, the tears now slipping down her face, her lips trembling as she looked him in the eye in horror "- I forgot -" she bent at the waist, starting to sob in earnest now, "- oh god, Jackson, I forgot."

Suddenly able to move again, Jackson dropped her hand, using both arms to lift her by the hips, right up out of her chair and into his lap, uncomfortable wooden chair be damned. "I know," he said, and her head fell like a rag doll's against his shoulder. "I know." And he did, he knew exactly how she was feeling. The return of the crushing survivor's guilt that they'd only too recently managed to leave behind them, and guilt that any of their own drama had made them so blind to how good they had it. Because Callie was right, they hadn't really appreciated the simple miracle of surviving residency. Reed and Charles hadn't survived. Lexie hadn't survived.

April cried for several long minutes, her arms going around his neck as his tightened around her waist. He focused on taking deep breaths, closing his eyes and struggling to think only of the scent and texture of her hair, trying to ground himself as much as possible so that he would be steadier for her, but he still felt shaky and off-balance.

Eventually, her sobs subsided, and she pulled away a bit, still bereft, but her tear ducts now barren. They looked at each other for a few long moments, the same emptiness and lack of direction in his light eyes as in her dark ones.

"What do we do?" she finally whispered. They'd been through something like this before, but there was no protocol to follow, still no appropriate response.

He shrugged, helpless. "I...we eat dinner, I guess," he said raggedly. It felt absurd to think about food right now, irreverent to follow her crying jag by suggesting that they sit down to a nice meal, but he hadn't eaten in hours, and they would surely need every calorie of energy they could get to make it through the stress of the next few days. "And then we get some sleep, and...we go into the hospital tomorrow, and...we...help."

_And we wait._ The words hung unspoken between them. That was one of the things they'd both learned, after the shooting. That as much as you wanted to, you couldn't rush months, weeks, or even days into the future. You couldn't anticipate what would come up, what would need to be done, or how you would feel. You just had to wait, wrecked and worn out, and take things as they came.

April slowly stood up then, and Jackson felt the loss of her weight almost as hard as he'd felt the loss of Lexie that morning. He watched her walk unsteadily to the oven, taking out the pie and chicken she'd left in it to keep warm. He knew it was impolite, not offering to help, but she would have brushed off his assistance anyway, she always did, and he was too tired to do anything more than stay upright in this chair.

She served him a generous helping of everything, and he smiled weakly at her in thanks. She usually sat across from him when it was just the two of them, but tonight she next to him, in the chair he'd pulled her out of, and they ate in silence, both facing the same direction.

He did help clear the table, rinsing the plates as she tidily packed leftovers into square glass containers. He turned around from placing everything in the dishwasher in time to see her arms shaking as she lifted the large piece of bakeware that the chicken had roasted in, lowered it into the sink. She turned the water on, and stared with wet eyes as it filled the pan. She reached for a sponge, but Jackson reached around her, and turned the water off.

"Don't, just leave it," was all he said wearily, no explanation, but she did, sliding the plastic spatula and serving spoon into the water to soak overnight.

She turned to face him then, but her head was tilted forward, her eyes cast down. He slowly stepped just close enough to put an arm around her back, and she finally looked up to meet his eyes. Her sad gaze pulled him in, just like it had back at Joe's, but this time he knew better than to try to kiss her right now, and she didn't push him away when he stepped a little closer. Still leaving a few inches between their chests, he lifted his other arm to encircle her shoulders, and the palm of his hand cupped the back of her neck, moving gently, comforting them both.

For what felt like hours, but was probably only several minutes, they just stood there, just breathing together. After awhile, April began to wonder if they would ever be able to leave this spot in the kitchen, this small cylinder of solace from an unpredictable, hurtful world.

Eventually, though, Jackson lowered his head, resting his forehead on her hair. "April," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "Come upstairs with me."

"Jackson," she said automatically in weak protest, "I..."

"Just to sleep," he said softly. "Please. I can't - I don't want to be alone right now."

She paused, torn, remembering the nightmares he'd had after the shooting, wondering if that's why he was asking for company. It didn't matter - she didn't want to be alone either. "Okay," she murmured, finally. "Okay."

They crawled together into her bed, fully dressed, and for the first night since she'd gotten back from San Francisco, April didn't have it in her to cry, and she drifted off to sleep on a pillow completely dry of any tears.

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_****** Please review. ******_


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, he shook her awake gently before rolling out bed, mumbling that he would shower first and give her a ride to the hospital in half an hour. She stared up at her ceiling again, still groggy. The curve and shadow where the glass bulb met the bronze fixture looked the same as it had the night before last, but the way she saw her life had completely changed.

Once they were in the car, Jackson kept glancing over at her, as if he expected her to fall apart again at any minute, but she didn't know what say to reassure him, or even if she should. Somehow, she was feeling both much better and much worse than she had two days ago. They both sat through the short drive in silence, but the air between them wasn't strained and charged the way it had often been in the days before.

* * *

The next several days were a blur, running together. They both worked long hours and talked little, sleeping more often in on-call rooms than at home. Their schedules didn't line up well, but for at least a few hours every day, Jackson would find her, whether at the house or at the hospital, and slide into bed next to her, never asking permission after that first night, just wrapping his arm around her waist without a word.

She could tell he was trying to be careful, to not wake her up if she were already asleep. Once in awhile he succeeded, and she learned what it was to slowly come out of her fuzzy dreams, most of them unsettling and sad, to find herself unexpectedly wrapped up safe in someone's embrace. But a lot of the time she was roused from a shallow sleep despite his best efforts, and she would lay awake but quiet beside him, listening to his soft snores as she wondered what her life here would be like when he left for Tulane. She at least had a job now, but the future still looked bleak, even if she was grateful that, unlike Lexie, at least she had one.

* * *

Meredith and Cristina came home together on the second day, almost immediately after being released. April barely saw Meredith before she left again with Zola on the third day, flying out to New York to be with Derek. She saw considerably more of Cristina, who all but moved into the hospital just as she and Jackson had, working overtime to make up for the three injured attendings - four missing altogether, now that Callie was on leave - one absent fifth year, and the fourth year who would never return.

April wouldn't have thought she'd ever feel this way, but she was incredibly appreciative to have Cristina back at Seattle Grace. When anyone mentioned Lexie, there was a softness and a sadness in her slanted eyes, neither of which April had ever seen in her before. Cristina hadn't lost any of her signature acidity while stranded in the woods, but April found that she no longer minded it. Cristina sometimes made fun of her mercilessly, but she'd looked April right in the eye when she'd told Case Western, "_I am an awesome surgeon"_. And somehow she knew Cristina really believed that April was - Cristina didn't lie about things like that.

And with all the events of the past couple of weeks, the rose-colored lenses April had managed to tape back together after the shooting seemed permanently shattered. It was actually a relief to hear Cristina willing to express aloud, and to anyone, the caustic disaffect that she felt now when she looked out at life with untinted eyes. She was more subdued now, not filled with the frantic panic that had consumed her since San Francisco, but also no longer determined to be perky and peppy as the world around her struggled on, far from perfect.

* * *

By day four, Mark had been allowed to be fly back to Seattle Grace, where Teddy pronounced him in decent condition but severely weakened, and ordered him to take a few weeks off of surgery and to stick to paperwork. Arizona followed him on day six, and Callie came with her, so consumed with making sure her wife was getting the latest orthopedic therapy techniques that she didn't have much time left over for other patients. On the eighth day, Meredith flew back into town with Zola, leaving the task of overseeing Derek's care in New York in his mother's very capable hands.

The funeral service was on day ten.

* * *

And once again, April watched men she didn't know lower an anonymous, closed casket that supposedly held a friend. Just like the last time, Jackson stood beside her, and just like the last time, she was probably the only one who noticed that the tightness of his jaw and helpless anger in his eyes was ruining what otherwise looked like a perfect demonstration of how polite and stoic an Avery should appear in public.

"Are you okay?" she asked quietly, when the eulogy was over. Most of the other guests had slowly trickled away from the gravesite, but he hadn't moved, and she hadn't either. There was an unspoken agreement that they would leave together. Like last time.

"Yeah," he said, but his eyes didn't waver from staring straight ahead. April turned to look too, at the headstone that looked too clean, too white, next to the dark, soft mound of freshly turned dirt. She felt another pang of sorrow, this time stained with jealousy at the edges.

"I know you loved her," she said softly. "Jackson, I'm so sorry."

He stirred, finally, looking down at her. "No," he said slowly. "I mean, I'm sorry too, I hate that she's -" he couldn't say the word, standing here in the cemetery again already made it too real. "...but, I didn't love her."

April studied him, as he turned away from her, staring forward again. "I thought I loved her," he said in considered tones. "But I never loved her, not the way he loves her." April followed his eyes, and realized that he was gazing not at the headstone, not at the pile of dirt, but at the older man - and he looked much older now - who sat just to the side of it, cross-legged on the soiled grass, careless of the ruin befalling his expensive suit.

April glanced back at Jackson then, looking up into his face, and saw tears in his eyes for the first time since this whole nightmare started. Not just for Lexie, but for Mark, she thought. The man had become important to Jackson, more than she'd realized. Despite Jackson's initial intense dislike of Mark as they competed for Lexie, he'd somehow ended up both Jackson's mentor and his buddy. She loved that about Jackson, he seemed reserved and aloof at first, part of the Avery family inheritance, but he gave people second and third chances, and when he did start to care, he cared without reservation.

"What will he do?" April whispered, looking back at the broken man no one dared approach yet. Jackson shook his head.

"He'll sit there until someone makes him leave, probably. It's not going to be me," Jackson said, his voice low. "And then it's pretty likely he'll drink until he can't feel anything anymore. And every time he starts to feel something for awhile, he'll drink again." He paused. "And after a solid few days of that, he'll sober up, and bury himself in his work to try and forget," Jackson finished. April shivered as a strong wind began to disturb the tops of the trees, wondering if he really knew that's what Mark would do. "At least," he added quietly, barely audible over the rustle of the leaves, "that's what I think I would do, if it had been you."

April froze. Jackson was still for a few seconds, and then turned toward her slowly. He didn't reach out for her, but the look in his eyes was enough to send her stumbling a step backward. "It's starting to get cold out here," she said, crossing her arms and rubbing them together. "We should go back to the house." She turned away from him, starting down the gentle slope to the car.

* * *

Jackson watched her walk away, feeling disheartened. At least she was running away slower than she had at Joe's, but that was probably only because of the black heels she'd worn to the funeral. He started after her.

This drive was a different kind of silent. _She has to talk to me, _Jackson thought in frustration. He was tempted to just get on the interstate and not stop until he either ran out of gas or she explained why she kept pulling away from him. Instead, he drove them home slowly, wishing he had a plan, hell even a clue, about how to get her to open up.

When they got back to the house, it felt quieter than usual. Zola's toddler chatter had cheered the place up the last few days, but she and Meredith were going straight to the airport from the funeral. It was just him and April.

He followed her into the house, and up the stairs, determined to have this out. He'd given her over a week with no pressure, and he'd used that time to think, and what he thought now was that he needed to hear a real reason. He could handle her turning him down because she honestly didn't have feelings for him the way he did for her, because she didn't think he measured up to the guy she deserved to be with. The thought sucked, but he could handle that.

But he couldn't handle her turning him down because she thought he just felt guilty, just pitied her, so at the top of the stairs, he followed her to her room, and when she tried to dart in and literally close him out, he stopped the door with his forearm and walked in anyway.

"Jackson, I'm not really in the mood right now," April said waspishly. "Besides, don't you need to pack for Tulane? Your two week's notice is up soon."

He stared at her. He'd forgotten about Tulane. "I never gave Seattle my notice."

April's jaw dropped open, and the door slipped open from her hands as she sputtered, "What? Jackson, it's a fantastic program. You said you picked Tulane, you picked it for a reason."

Jackson kept his gaze steady, and told the truth. "I picked Tulane because you told me to."

"No, that's not -" April started, indignant.

"Yes, it is," Jackson bit back, taking a step forward, "you said, _'go to Tulane already', _remember? And I was tired of feeling like I couldn't do anything right with you, so I said I'd picked it." He glared at her, daring her to deny it. April took a step backward, trying to keep the distance between them, but the back of her legs hit her bed.

"That's - that's -" she stammered, looking confused. She rallied, though, and said, "so you'll go to LA, then, their plastics program is excellent."

He said evenly, "I'm thinking I'll stay here."

April shook her head. "Don't be ridiculous, there's nothing for you here, Seattle Grace can't offer you what LA and Tulane are offering you."

He was quiet for a few seconds, taking another step forward, backing her against the bed, and looking into her eyes. "You don't get to decide for me who has the most to offer. I think there's a lot for me here." He reached out, encircling her upper arm in his hand.

"Jackson..." she said weakly. "Stop."

"No," he said, frustrated. "I won't." He needed a way to push her, but not intimidate her. "April, I don't get it. Why are you trying to push me away from Seattle?" He reached out with his other hand, drawing his fingers slowly through her hair and down the side of her face, his hand coming to rest at the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder, the same place that his kiss had made her shiver back in that bathroom in San Francisco. He lowered his voice. "Away from you?"

"Jackson, I just -" she drew a shaky breath. "You're not thinking straight, I don't want you to give up your career just because you feel guilty -"

"Damn it!" Jackson exploded. "That is not - I don't want to stay because I feel guilty!" She cringed back in shock, and he tried to reel in his temper, furious that she kept dismissing his feelings. He gritted his teeth, and looked into her eyes. "You think, if I looked at you and only felt like a piece of shit, I'd want to stick around for more?" Her eyes were wide and wet, and he just needed her to _see _it, to see him.

"April," he said more softly, "I don't look you and feel guilt. I look you at you and I -" his heart was pounding, his eyes were burning "- I lose my train of thought. I see you unhappy, and it doesn't make me pity you, it makes me want to fix everything for you. I see you looking like a goddamn housewife in a dress and an apron," he continued, his voice straining, "and it doesn't make me regret ruining your dream of giving your virginity to the guy who will come home to you every night, it makes me want to _be_ the guy that comes home to you, every night."

April was trembling now, rattled by his words. "Jackson, that's just it's infatuation, it's hormones, you slept with me and it felt good and now you have a - a fun new fantasy, but that's all it is, and it will pass, if we wait, it will -"

"No," Jackson whispered. "I'm not waiting. Mark waited, he was an idiot, I'm not going to make the same mistake." He closed his eyes briefly, promising himself not to coerce her. He wouldn't be that kind of guy. "If you're not ready for this, for any of this, that's fine, I'm not forcing you to do anything you don't want to do. But I'm not going anywhere. And I'm not waiting anymore to tell you, April, I think -" his breath caught, ragged in his chest.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head, shaking all over. "No."

"- I think I'm in love with you."

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_****** One more chapter to come. I want so badly to write it now, but if I stay up any later to stare at this screen I may actually be blind by tomorrow. Please review. ******_


	4. Chapter 4

_****** First, thanks so much to everyone, including those of you not logged in to whom I couldn't respond personally, who reviewed earlier chapters. It's very encouraging to know that you all liked it. It also makes me feel like it's worth it to try and get an update out, because writing feels less "selfish" if other people are getting something out of it.**_

_**edit: And speaking of reviews, to anon reviewer 'Luan', I had to go rewatch that scene because of what you said! I had just assumed, because they show April with a glass of wine, and Webber's 'bar room brawl' comment, that they were drunk. But after a second and third viewing, while I still think it's possible April was a little buzzed for various reasons (although, really, they've been so inconsistent with her character lately, that who can even reliably tell what is normal, stress, adrenaline, tipsy, or just plain crazy for her anymore), Jackson was definitely acting really, really sober. So I fixed the part about him. Thanks for pointing it out!**_

_**Second, I wanted to share with you the origin of the title of this fic, because I really appreciate it when other authors in fandom have relevant-ish, tribute-y titles, but the reference isn't obvious, nor can I figure out how to gracefully work an explanation into the actual story. It comes from this song clip (**_ watch?v=Rm9WWvwMsvU&t=2m53s_**) that the show used during this scene:**_

_**The bridge of the song plays almost inaudibly in the background, as Jackson glances over at April. "Then again, I've been pretty disturbed myself these days." April turns her head to give him an irritated look, but then her phone rings again. Cristina holds out the phone to April, and all the while April's staring at it, Jackson's staring at her. April finally shakes her head, then the lyrics pick up as Cristina answers for her.**_

_**I don't wanna fall in love,**_

_**I don't think I'm tough enough,**_

_**To endure the slings and arrows.**_

_**But I want to be with you,**_

_**So tell me, what am I to do,**_

_**As my options, oh, they narrow.**_

_**-Stone of Suffering, by Get Set Go ******_

_**.**_

_**.**_

"- I think I'm in love with you."

April's shaking ceased, along with her breath. Time, too, seemed to stop for a moment as she stared. There was no denying this and running off, no walking away and pretending everything was the same. He'd said it. He'd actually said those words. Passionately. Earnestly.

And he was her best friend. Her incredibly attractive best friend, looking just a little bit disheveled in his charcoal suit with his dark blue tie loosened and his collar unbuttoned. And he was staring at her now with that hot, dark, dangerous look in his eyes, the same one that, the last time she saw it, ended with her completely out of control, screwing him in a bathroom stall.

And god, that had felt good. It would probably feel good now. But then what? This wouldn't last.

She'd started breathing again, quick and shallow. Her full-body paralysis had been overruled, at least in her diaphragm, by an oxygen-starved brainstem. Even her eyes were frozen, locked to his, but she finally managed to move her jaw enough to say, pleadingly, "Jackson, no."

"April," he said, his voice now husky with something other than anger and frustration. "Yes." He moved even closer to her, giving her plenty of time to remember how her limbs worked and push him away, and she knew that she should, that she shouldn't fall into bed with him again. But despite - because of? - the fluttery panic in her solar plexus, she still didn't move.

He dropped his hand from her upper arm to her waist, and the hand that had rested at her collarbone slowly scraped upward along her neck until it was cupped at the base of her skull, and she let him, still immobile, feeling the blood rush that followed the migration of his touch like a small wildfire sweeping across her skin. And then, his eyes still burning, he leaned in to kiss her. She expected it, steeled herself against becoming a slave to frantic lust, braced herself to resist the hard, urgent pressure of his lips.

But this time, his kiss was surprisingly soft, and patient. His tongue didn't invade her mouth, his teeth didn't bite and scrape her bottom lip. His hand pressed down lightly on her pelvis, but instead of roughly pulling her hips forward, he just stroked the curve of her waist with his thumb. The hand at the nape of her neck moved upwards, but not to greedily pull her head toward his, just to tangle contentedly in her hair.

For one long, free-floating minute, his lips brushed gently over hers, mild and undemanding. Far from feeling frantic and lustful, a tendril of contentment unfurled deep within her, and she sighed quietly. And though he seemed to be asking for nothing more than this weightless, tender contact, she was steadily tumbling to a place of wanting to give him everything, becoming more pliant in his arms. Then he shifted, his touch still feather-light, and his lips caressed hers again, somehow more intimately, though their mouths still barely touched. "Oh," April exhaled, and Jackson pulled a few inches away.

His face was sober, but there was a glimmer in his eye as he asked quietly, "Should I not have done that?"

"I, unh," April sighed, unable to form a coherent answer, and Jackson bent back over her, again kissing her sweetly, and without thinking, she tilted her head back a bit to meet him.

"If you want me to stop," he whispered against her lips, "just say so," another kiss, barely there, "and I'll stop." He let his hand fall from her neck, tracing her spine to just between her shoulder blades, and April flushed as she suddenly realized what he was saying.

"Jackson," she whispered, a note of distress further betraying her embarrassment. She tensed a little despite her melted muscles, and his lips curved upward against hers, knowing that she recognized the words.

But his fingertips brushed in reassuring circles on her back, and he said, "I mean it," his voice soft and serious. "If you tell me I shouldn't kiss you like this," and he let his lips graze hers again, threatening to send her body into a liquid state once again, "I won't." Her head was swimming, and she let her eyes close, trying to remember all her reasons for knowing this would end in disaster. "If you tell me you don't want me to love you," his voice was low, and he paused a little too long, and her heart fluttered, "I'll try not to."

_Tell him, _urged the voice inside her, the one who knew this was way too risky, way too scary. One night stands were bad enough, but allowing her heart to get involved, and with someone who already knew her too well, could already see straight through to her soul? That was the kind of gambling that could wreck her. _Tell him he shouldn't, tell him you don't._

* * *

Jackson waited. His words hung in the air, and he hoped like hell that she wouldn't tell him that, that she wouldn't pull away again. Her eyes finally opened, and they were filled with trepidation. But there was something else there, hiding behind the nerves and doubts, that encouraged him. Her lips parted, but no words came from them, and after a moment, he bent to kiss them again.

He started out just as gentle, just as careful, as he had before. Gradually, though, he increased the firmness of his lips, the surface area of his palm in contact with her skin. Still not pressuring or hurrying, just trying to tell her without words that he was there, that he wanted to be there with her, that he was sure. That he wanted her to want to be with him, wanted her to be sure.

After a brief moment of hesitation, she kissed him back, timidly at first, then with a little more poise, and relief poured through him. He still didn't crowd her, didn't push, and a few moments later, she tipped her head back on her neck, allowing him better access to her mouth. His heart leapt at her trust, her willingness, and he let his arm fall lower down her back, wrapping around her lumbar curve and squaring her hips to his.

As his pelvis connected with hers through their clothes, he heard her moan quietly. Worried that it was too much, too soon for her, he pulled back slightly to glance at her face, gauge her expression. But before he could get a good look, she was rising on her toes, boldly seeking his lips out once again, and he fused his mouth to hers once again.

Taking this to mean that she wasn't feeling overwhelmed, he slowly reached up and pushed off of her shoulders the fitted black jacket she'd worn to stand in the chill of the northwest spring. She shivered as it hit the floor next to them, and he paused, murmuring next to her ear, "too cold?"

She just shook her head wordlessly, letting out a breathy sigh as he trailed kisses down her neck. After a few moments, he pushed her gently, just enough so that her knees buckled and she sat on the edge of the bed.

He pulled off his own jacket and his tie quickly, tossing them both to the floor, and kicked out of his shoes. A little nudge was all it took for her to slip out of hers. With his right arm, he lifted and swiveled her legs, taking note of her conflicted face. With his left hand, he gently pressed her shoulder down as he brought his right knee knee up and over her, pivoting his weight on that leg until he lay on his side next to her, his bent elbow propping up his head over hers. He looked at her face, but now she was staring up at the ceiling as if transfixed.

Letting his eyes wander her body, he thought, _She has no friggin' idea of how effortlessly attractive she is_. Her sweater dress hugged her curves in all the right places, the cool dark blue color a sharp contrast to the warmth of her slightly mussed auburn hair. Her pink lips were slightly swollen, and the scoop neck showed just a hint of the swell of her breasts beneath the ribbed fabric, but it was more than enough to make him suddenly aware of how much he'd wanted her, and for how long.

He didn't actually know when it had started, but he realized now that something had been there, building under the surface, for far longer than the past two weeks. He'd kept the beginnings of it buried to even himself - she was off-limits, first as a colleague, then as a friend, and most recently, for her innocence - but now that it had floated up and been exposed, his feelings for her were larger than he'd been ready for, and he was unnerved to acknowledge that this was the first time he'd been in a bed beside someone after using the word love.

Then she turned her head on the pillow to look at him, openness and vulnerability written all over her face, and he lost his breath. God, he'd fucked this up the first time, no matter what she'd said in the locker room about feeling things and being changed. She'd saved her virginity for true love, only to lose it to casual sex in a hotel room, mediocre sex at that, because he'd been so surprised by her confidence, so flustered at how much he wanted to, that he'd fumbled enough to end up letting her do most of the work. And the second time, while he had definitely participated more, it had been to screw her against a wall. What a first couple of times, and way less than she deserved.

Hell, he wasn't even sure she'd come once in those two days. He might an Ivy-league educated Avery, and a successful surgeon at a world-class hospital because he could think fast on his feet, but _fuck, _he thought, could he be an idiot sometimes.

Well, at least the first of those two problems, he could try to fix.

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_****** Please review. ******_


	5. Chapter 5

_****** Well, I obviously lied, since I said 'one more' at 3 and this is 5, there are going to be more chapters than I thought. And this one is decidedly 'M'. At least one more chapter is still tumbling around in my head, I didn't wrap some things up that I intend to. Though it may be awhile before I have it up, the next two weeks are finals. Yes, two weeks, not one. It's a long, heartrending story, but not the one you all are interested in. ;)**_

_**I also want to recommend another song from one of April's scenes in that same episode, just because I like it and it took me forever to find. ( **_ watch?v=WTtPRTxgqlE_** )**_

_**Is it over**_

_**Or has it begun**_

_**Do you wonder**_

_**What will we become**_

_**-Lightsick, by Zola Jesus ******_

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April was feeling a little disturbed. He'd taken off their outer layers of clothing, and tumbled them onto her bed, and she'd tried to feel ready for what was coming next. But then...that curve, that shadow, of the light fixture had caught her eye, and she'd gotten distracted. Just for a moment, as she had remembered all the events in the past two weeks, all seeming to end with her in this bed. So many things were the same as before all of this started - she still lived at Meredith's, Jackson was still her best friend, she even still worked at Seattle Grace - and yet, everything had changed.

She finally dragged her eyes away from the ceiling to find that he was contemplating her carefully. "Oh, hey," she murmured, caught off-guard at the intensity of his concentration.

He grinned slightly at her. "Forget I was here?" he teased softly. She blushed, but smiled as she shook her head, not knowing what to say.

"You okay?" he asked more quietly, lifting his hand to brush his fingers across her cheek.

She nodded, but when just he traced her jaw with his thumb and waited, she sighed, and spoke. "So, you really think you're in love with me?" she asked dryly, meeting his eyes. She was tired of being the naive, under-experienced girl, maybe for awhile she could pretend to be unfazed.

His lips quirked upward. "Yeah," he said, keeping his voice nonchalant too, as if she'd asked him if he liked the color blue.

"Oh," April said, nodding a little and trying to look unconcerned, as if this were merely an interesting development. "So..." but she couldn't figure out what to say next.

He smiled again, but his voice was less impassive. "You don't have to say it back." A beat, and he added, "I mean, if you do, you could," sounding, for only the second or third time in her memory, a little spooked. "But you don't have to."

She gazed at him, seeing him anew. His face looked relaxed, but that was just the result of years of practice and control. Avery discipline, she thought. But his eyes were tense, and she watched, fascinated, as his larynx dipped in his throat.

"You're nervous," she realized, surprised.

He leaned forward over her, inching slowly closer, until her breath quickened and her pulse skittered in her veins. "Well, yeah," Jackson said, a smile and some triumph in his voice, "so are you." His tone lowered as he added, "I mean, it's not every day you make love to your best friend for the first time."

She wondered at the "for the first time" bit, but took as calm a breath as she could and asked shakily, "is that what we're about to do?"

He reached over, ran his hand down her far arm, and kissed her gently. "Maybe," he said, looking at her thoughtfully. "If you want to." As if it were just one option, as if she could say no, and they'd watch a movie, or find something else to do.

She hesitated, and to her dismay, though his arm still stretched across her stomach and his hand never left her elbow, he rocked back on his side, giving her space. She rolled up onto her hip, chasing him, and studied his face. "I - I think I do."

He grinned, suddenly looking younger than his twenty-eight years. "Yeah?" he said casually, but his palm tightened briefly where it had shifted to her upper arm.

"Yeah," she said slowly, the speed of her voice disagreeing with that of her heart, beating wildly as she stared into his eyes.

He rolled towards her again, his hand moving down to the swell of hips. He kissed her, long and smooth, before pulling her closer, sliding his other arm under her side and around her. The hand on her hip moved down to her thigh, and he whispered in her ear. "Whenever you want, we can stop, slow down...whatever, whenever you want." His breath tickled her neck, warm and wet. Her own breath was catching, so she just nodded, knowing he would feel it.

He pressed his lips to the sensitive skin on the side of her throat, and she exhaled softly at how good it felt. His hand slid lower on her thigh, finding bare skin, and she inhaled a little faster than usual. Jackson pulled his face away from the crook of her neck, and studied her. She gazed back with eyelids that felt suddenly heavy.

Just as she started to wonder what he was looking for, he was using the hand on her thigh to brace both of them as he rolled them to pin her on her back. Settling over her so that he was directly on top of her but not resting any real weight on her, he slid his other hand up her side, to the bottom of her ribcage, and then his mouth found hers.

His kisses weren't exactly gentle, this time, though they were still slow and soft. His lips did more than lightly graze hers, they teased and slid, damp and smooth, back and forth, and in and out. She surprised herself by responding to him easily, eagerly, and winding her arms around his neck.

He just kissed her for a long while, his thumbs making tiny, seductive circles at her hip and her lowest rib, a little detail that she hadn't noticed the other times. She shivered as she realized that this was the first time she'd known she was about to have sex and been able to feel nervous about it. The first time, she'd been filled with the kind of courage that only comes from mixing a little bit of alcohol and a lot of adrenaline. The second time, it had been too surreal - the _men's_ room, of all places - and had happened so fast.

Jackson shifted, pressing a little more weight into her, and she realized with a start that she _didn't_ really feel nervous. Even in her fantasies, where she'd tried to be realistic, she'd imagined feeling awkward and insecure, but with him, she didn't. She felt herself growing warmer and looser as she thought about how real this all felt - he was so solid on top of her, and the scent of his cologne was so close, and he was doing wonderful things to her with his mouth.

And then his hand was inching back up her leg, catching at the hem of her dress and then slipping under it as she gasped. His fingertips paused halfway through traversing over her inner thigh, and he broke their kiss long enough to murmur again, "whatever you want, or don't". She just nodded again, trying to get her breath back, and after a moment his hand slid even higher, much more slowly, until he cupped her center, making her feel needy and wanton.

"Jackson," she breathed against his lips, and she felt him smile.

"April," he whispered back, and he gave her a deep, lazy kiss, as she tried not to squirm and rub herself against him. Shifting again, his fingers stroked her vulva through the thin fabric as he moved the bulk of his weight to the elbow of his other arm, and transferred the attention of his lips to her neck.

She sighed in contentedness and pleasure as he fell into a rhythm, his hand rubbing against her pelvis and his lips brushing against her skin, and then she moaned in surprise and desire when he used his free hand to cup her breast in the curve between his thumb and his forefinger, the heat and pressure of his hand going right through the fabric of her dress and her bra. He lifted himself higher at the shoulder and kissed her again, but a moment later, he was nibbling on her neck again, and then pushing aside her underwear, and his fingers tentatively explored her without that barrier in the way.

His touch was tentative, sliding up and down so gently that she felt like she was melting into him. She hummed in pleasure without really thinking about it, and Jackson turned his head up towards her ear, his voice a raspy whisper. "Spread your legs a little. Please." She did what he asked without a second thought.

One of his fingers slid upward against her slit, until he found the bundle of nerves at the top, and she shuddered in his arms as he stroked it, wondering how she could possibly feel this good still fully clothed. He switched from just up and down to a slow circling motion, making the pressure suddenly feel much more intense, and she cried out, her raw voice piercing the quiet air. He lightened his touch in response, and embarrassed, she whispered, "sorry."

He raised himself higher on his elbow again, hovering just inches over her and looking down. "Don't be _sorry_," he murmured, his eyes dark and serious. He held her eyes, and swept a thumb across her breast once, watching as she whimpered softly. His hand never breaking its rhythm between her legs, he did it again, kneading her rounded flesh underneath the thin fabric softly, and again, dragging the tip of his thumb over her hardening nipple, until she was trembling in his arms.

She lifted shaking hands to his shirt, quickly undoing the top button, and fumbling with the next. But he leaned in and kissed her, preventing her from making any more progress, too close to her for her hands to be able to do anything but press flat against his chest. "Not yet," was all he whispered, and then he kissed her again as his hand dipped lower, following her wetness to its source.

She whimpered and shuddered in his arms as he slipped inside of her with one finger, and then two. He was watching her, his gaze steady, and she closed her eyes, feeling abashed. Maybe he knew, because he murmured, "you are beautiful, you know," as his fingers reached higher, making her stretch and squirm.

A moment later, his fingers curled and hit a spot that sent a jolt of electricity through her, and she gasped, her eyes snapping open in shock. His eyes were still on hers, dark and serious, but now a wicked grin was playing around his mouth. He pressed that same spot again, experimentally, and satisfaction flitted across his face as her hips jumped forward a bit out of her control.

Her breath came faster, heavier, as he found a rhythm again, a different one this time, with his hand sliding in and out and back in between her legs, over and over, until she was dizzy and felt herself starting to spin out of control. "Jackson," she cried softly, "I can't - not -" She broke off, feeling a tremor of pleasure, as his fingers thrust deeper into her.

"Good," he whispered, his voice ragged. His thumb slid, up, finding that bundle of nerves again, and begin to circle it slowly, still massaging that spot deep inside her, as she shuddered. "Good, don't, god...god, you're so -"

So what, April didn't hear, because she was breaking, like an earthquake, falling apart, a rumble and rush rising up to fill her ears. Her eyes closed as waves of pleasure tumbled and crashed over her, and she heard herself cry out, distantly, as if she were far away, dimly marveling at her sudden visceral understanding of the philosophical definition of 'ecstasy', from the Greek, to stand outside oneself.

Slowly, the noise faded, and she was returned to the quiet present, Jackson's fingers still stroking, shallowly, slowly, inside her, just enough movement to cause her to still tremble, caught in aftershocks. She opened her eyes, feeling suddenly vulnerable in the dark, and saw that Jackson was gazing at her, his eyes hazy.

His fingers stilled inside her, then eased out, drawing her panties back over her wet and sensitive flesh. His eyes never left hers as he smoothed her skirt back down, then reached up to cradle her jaw. He leaned down, his thumb on the side of her chin, and gave her a warm, caring kiss. He leaned back a little, hovering over her as he asked, quietly, "you okay?"

April felt a rush of security at his words, as she heard the echo of how many times he'd asked her that before leaving her hotel room. Just after they'd finished, he'd said, _"You glad we did that?" _And she'd assured him, in no uncertain terms, that she was. But he knew her - almost better than he knew herself - and he asked again, and again, not quite believing her answer. _"I'm great."_

It wasn't the right response now, either. "I - I've never - felt anything like that," she admitted, breathless.

"Yeah," Jackson said, his eyes dark and disapproving. "Well, you should have. But, at least this time, I got it right." He paused a beat. "Sorry," he added.

April laughed a little at that, her body still tingling and buzzing. "Don't be _sorry,_" she said, throwing his words back at him.

"Fine," he said, grinning at her, his eyes lightening. "But you're really okay," he stated, and she felt a rush of affection as she saw the concern that was drawn in the lines on his face.

"Yes," was all she murmured, but her tone was confident, sure this time, and she didn't look away. "Although...I would be happier if..." April let her voice fade off.

Jackson drew his eyebrows together, looking troubled, and she continued, coyly, looking pointedly at his half unbuttoned shirt. "...if you would let me finish what I started."

His face cleared, and a little grin escaped him as he leaned into her again, his eyes dark and his breath hot. "I suppose I could allow that."

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_****** The last two chapters were incredibly difficult to write. This one especially, erotica is so tricky; the line between too much and not enough is so faint and smudged and it probably lies in different place for everyone. I appreciate honesty no matter what you thought. Please please review. ******_


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